


as long as you're still burning bright

by crescere stella (ikugin)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions/Golden Deer Joint Route, Fluff, Gender Neutral Byleth, Happy Ending, I just want them to be happy, M/M, Soft times for soft boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikugin/pseuds/crescere%20stella
Summary: Claude recounts the two times that he danced with Dimitri.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	as long as you're still burning bright

The first time that Dimitri dances with Claude is under the moonlight.

Their romance had been a quiet affair — shared between them in stolen glances across the field, kisses behind books late into the night. Claude had never been one for romantics nor was he to think he was capable of the kind of love that Dimitri gave him, but regardless, he enjoyed it immensely. 

Dimitri was as princely you could get without the condescension. His sincerity, his devotion to his people, these were qualities that the masses loved about him. For Claude however, what he loved about the lionhearted prince was that he always made sure to make him feel like a _person._ Many had tried to be open about the idea of people from different walks of life — the people of the Leicester Alliance was one of those people, but even in narrowed eyes and in stilted conversations, things were not the best. Those from the Blue Lions were no different, except for Dedue. Claude had expected Dimitri to be the same old princely type, maybe even so to be like Edelgard in stiffness, but he was wrong. Their first meeting cemented that fact; the way he had talked to Claude not as the Riegan heir but as someone who also had a fervent interest in history was enough to pull him in. It all went downhill from there.

Although it hurt being a secret, Dimitri had once said to him that to know Claude himself was more than enough. Claude tried to hide his blush, teasing the blonde for his romantic quips by asking if he had been reading Ashe’s romance novels. It's enough to garner a laugh from him, as he pressed a soft kiss to Claude’s lips, half in exasperation but full of affection.

It’s a few weeks before the ball. He was up reading again, and heard footsteps moving about in the gazebo. Dimitri looks like a fairytale prince under the moonlight. Hair being carefully tousled by the winds, as the moonlight shone down upon him in a careful embrace — goddess, maybe he’s the romantic instead. Claude approaches Dimitri with a smile, extending his hand to him when he falls onto the ground from surprise. _My prince charming!_ Dimitri gasps teasingly, _you have come to save me!_ Claude’s cheeks are burning red and he coughs into his hand when he pulls Dimitri up, despite their close proximity. The blonde will laugh, taking the other’s hand to dance. They both smile until their cheeks hurt, and in this moment nothing exists. Only the shine of emerald and azure meeting in a budding romance just like in the books. 

When the sun threatens to expose them both, they quietly slink back into their quarters, without a trace of existence. Their hands linger on each other for far too long. A beckoning for each other to stay. But those things are reserved for people who aren’t heirs, who aren’t princes. Dimitri will kiss Claude’s knuckles softly, an unspoken promise: _Tomorrow,_ it will say, _tomorrow we can be together again_ , _forever_ — but tomorrow is full of pains that they carry, and even then they will not know how tomorrow looks like. 

Instead when it does come, it comes in swathes of red and black. The boy he loved, a visage so torn with pain and anger — Claude reaches to him, clamoring in desperation, but he is too late. _Dimitri,_ he speaks to the wall that is Dimitri’s motivation to hack apart the mannequin to pieces, _Mitya—_

This is where the arrow pierces him, killing his naive hope just like his siblings did when he was younger. This time it takes form in Dimitri’s expression that resembles a snarl of a beast, who lived for vengeance. A beast that knows nothing but the frigid pain that courses through his veins. This beast will grab his wrist, and Claude tears out the arrow from his heart against all self-preservation. He never followed warnings anyway. His other hand reaches to hold the prince’s face, but he hisses. _Don’t touch me_ , Dimitri growls, _you need to leave._ His grip on Claude’s wrist is gentle, and it betrays his own tone of anger. In his face Claude sees a boy, alone and scarred, and it reminds him of the palace he grew up in. The darkness of it despite how the light illuminated the walls. 

Claude leaves without saying anything. Hilda will question his restlessness when they are in class, but he says nothing. Because nothing hurts, of course. He should have seen it coming. 

When the academy falls, he rewrites the memory of Dimitri in his head. He replaces the contorted visage of a beast with the fairytale prince who gleamed in the moonlight. The prince who smiled at him as he laughed at Claude stepping on his shoes, softly guiding him. Lysithea will tell him that Dimitri has changed, but he will stubbornly continue to hold the belief that his dear Mitya was still the same boy whose face reddened hearing Claude’s innuendos. 

The moon is high when Byleth returns, and a small feast is held to celebrate their return. Lorenz will tut at his opposition to dancing, asking about his ruefulness. Claude simply says that he’s tired. He watches the drunken waltzes on the floor with Byleth, who holds his hand behind their back in solidarity. They look at him with a crease in their brow. Claude stares beyond them, a sad smile plastered on his face out of politeness. He remembers when the dining hall was always this bright with laughter, when war was only a lesson taught in classrooms. A life before the night of the ball, where he could still trace Dimitri’s fingertips as he watched the stars dance in his eyes.

* * *

The second time that Dimitri dances with Claude is not under the moonlight, or in Fodlan. 

War is a distant memory for them. Years of bloodshed are buried under years of recovery, away from the land that burdened them. The sun has finally enveloped them in kindness with a blanket of light, framing Dimitri’s face. It illuminates his scars, a proof of his survival. Sometimes, Claude finds it hard to believe that he was here in front of him. The battle of Gronder had left another arrow in his heart, dashing his hopes once more as Hilda came to him crying about Dimitri. Byleth has sent scouts to search the area soon after, but the words were ringing in his ears. _Dimitri is gone_ , he hears in Hilda’s sobs, _pursued by Imperial Soldiers._ He refused to believe that he would go just like that. _Dimitri would never back down like that,_ Byleth said, hand on the hilt of their sword, _I’m sure he’s still out there._ But Claude has never been good at facing his feelings head on. Facing his feelings head on was like admitting a weakness, and his experiences in Almyra would admit to that. So he opts to help Hilda with her tears, ignoring Byleth. 

What else can he say, after all? That he regrets leaving that night when Dimitri told him to leave? That he regrets not seeing the signs? That he regrets letting Dimitri worm into the cracks of the golden cage his heart resided in?

“Claude,” He hears Dimitri speak, but his voice is distant in his thoughts. Dimitri brings Claude’s hand to his cheek. 

He still remembers the battered man that was brought in that night after the battle. Pale and unseemingly thin, like an almost dead prey left to bleed to death. When he sees his face, there is no beas that the others talked about. Only a boy who was tired of running from the clamoring hands that wanted to choke him from a life he deserved. Claude wanted to hold him then, to wipe the exhaustion away from his face — but his hands are limp by his side, listening to Byleth and Manuela speak about Dimitri’s condition. The night still held him in a soft embrace then, moonlight spread on his face. An echo of a life before. 

“Khalid.” Dimitri wipes the tears off Claude’s face.

He traces the scars on his face, along his jaw, like he would fade away. The illumination of the sun makes him look like a ghost, but the warmth in his cheeks below his fingertips tells Claude otherwise. Dimitri had always said that Claude was the sun, and he was the moon — no, Claude thinks, Mitya is the sun and I am but the moon basking in its light. 

“You’re here,” Claude said, bringing himself back to reality, “You’re real,”

“I have been for many years,” The blonde responded, mirth in his tone. 

To even hear him joke was a miracle itself. When the war ended, he couldn’t look at anyone without a glower, cautious of anyone’s movement towards him. Byleth would speak to Claude later after the end of Edelgard that Dimitri needed to be away from here. Away from the place where the crown he wore was just another noose of expectations. So he asked Dimitri if he wanted to go to Almyra. Spirits were high in the air with Nemesis dead, but Claude had found him in the goddess tower, just like the night of the ball. He had extended his hand to him, asking him to leave together. He knew that his succession crisis in Almyra would make his life harder, but he still did it anyway. To his surprise, Dimitri took his hand. _Your hands are warmer than I remember._

Recovery was never an easy path, but Almyra had dissolved the expectations expected of Dimitri. He was free to live as he wanted, and that was frequently at Claude’s side. There are still nights where the darkness hangs on his shoulders like a heavy coat and he fights himself, but Claude had held him there, grounding him. Dimitri’s hands still tremble when he is holding Claude’s hand to his cheek. But it’s lighter now; the weight of the world didn’t rest on his shoulders any longer. The only thing that rested there was their dinner plans. 

“Do you want to dance?” Dimitri asked, a soft smile on his face. 

When Khallid was young, he had frequently run away from his siblings. As the child of the Fodlan born Queen, he had to fight his way to have a place in court. His father had appraised him for his wit and let him sit in for his roundtable meetings, but that just made him tighten his grip on the dagger he hid under his pillow. Fodlan just another bout of him running away from his fears in a guise of self-preservation; away from the palace he wanted to love but was not allowed to. But even as Claude von Riegan, heir of the Riegan Dukedom, he could not let his mask fall away. It was just screwed on with more bolts, vulnerability just another privilege for someone that was not him. 

But today, Claude stands here now in the palace he could finally call his home, mask unscrewed to the man that he called his own. The strands of silver hair are showing in his braid, and he wipes his tears away. 

“Of course, Mitya,” Claude responds, with a smile that makes his cheeks hurt, “Always.”

As Dimitri takes his hand into his, Claude remembers the promise of tomorrow from a time long gone — it lays here now between their hands. Things will never be the same, as change is the only constant in this life, but he thinks, that as long as this warmth stays, it might just be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> When I played the GD Route, I spent three hours crying about how I couldn't save Dimitri. And here we are. 
> 
> I just want them to be happy y'know? 
> 
> Regardless, thank you for reading!
> 
> come scream at me [on my twitter!](https://twitter.com/cylxius)


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